He says hello as if nothing is different, and maybe it isn’t. You’re not really sure because you were drunk. But you weren’t that drunk. And it wasn’t anything major. You didn’t really do anything. Your stomach swings backward and forward anyway as he keeps talking to you as if you have never been closer than you are now, standing in the hallway and talking about verbs. Or something. You are not really listening. You are trying to remember.
You feel queasy most of the day. You avoid eye contact with everyone.
You have no one to talk to, and so you decide to pretend nothing happened. Which may be true. And if it isn’t true, he’s pretending and you’re not sure you can handle the rejection in that. You’ve had enough rejection lately.
You spend the rest of the day looking for clues and find none. Well, except for his roommate looking at you strangely during a meeting, but that may be your over active imagination.
The important thing is that you never catch him looking at you strangely because his ability to pretend is absolute.
I don’t write in the first or second person in fiction where I’m a third person sort of girl. Maybe we could psychoanalyze that, but I don’t see the point. I found, however, that when I sat down to write this particular scene (to make a point that wasn’t about person at all), that I could write this slice-of-my-life only in the second person. Those first person pronouns escaped and refused to come back.
Some stories demand a particular point of view–and that view may be bring you closer to the edge or hold you safely back. They may also confuse or mislead the reader. Which you don’t want to do because you’re not that sort of person. Fiction may all be pretend, but not all pretend is the same.
Is the point of view you like to write in different from the point of view you like to read in? Does it matter to you?